"Annie Laurie"--wish he'd quit it! Couldn't sleep now if I tried. Makes the night seem big and lonesome, And my throat feels sore inside. How _my_ Annie used to sing it! And it sounded good and gay Nights I drove her home from dances When the east was turnin' gray.
Yes, "her brow was like the snowdrift" And her eyes like quiet streams, "And her face"--I still kin see it Much too frequent in my dreams; And her hand was soft and trembly That night underneath the tree, When I couldn't help but tell her She was "all the world to me."
But her folks said I was "shif'less," "Wild," "unsettled,"--they was right, For I leaned to punchin' cattle And I'm at it still tonight. And she married young Doc Wilkins-- Oh my Lord! but that was hard! Wish that fool would quit his singin' "Annie Laurie" out on guard!
Oh, I just kaint stand it thinkin' Of the things that happened then. Good old times, and all apast me! Never seem to come again-- My turn? Sure. I'll come a-runnin'. Warm me up some coffee, pard-- But I'll stop that Jim from singin' "Annie Laurie" out on guard.
We're the children of the open and we hate the haunts o' men, But we had to come to town to get the mail. And we're ridin' home at daybreak--'cause the air is cooler then-- All 'cept one of us that stopped behind in jail. Shorty's nose won't bear paradin', Bill's off eye is darkly fadin', All our toilets show a touch of disarray, For we found that city life is a constant round of strife And we ain't the breed for shyin' from a fray.
Chant your warwhoop, pardners dear, while the east turns pale with fear And the chaparral is tremblin' all aroun' For we're wicked to the marrer; we're a midnight dream of terror When we're ridin' up the rocky trail from town!
We acquired our hasty temper from our friend, the centipede. From the rattlesnake we learnt to guard our rights. We have gathered fightin' pointers from the famous bronco steed And the bobcat teached us reppertee that bites. So when some high-collared herrin' jeered the garb that I was wearin' 'Twas't long till we had got where talkin' ends, And he et his illbred chat, with a sauce of derby hat, While my merry pardners entertained his friends.
Sing 'er out, my buckeroos! Let the desert hear the news. Tell the stars the way we rubbed the haughty down. We're the fiercest wolves a-prowlin' and it's just our night for howlin' When we're ridin' up the rocky trail from town.